Larry & Mick Enter Bulgarian Airspace

'Hey Larry, guess what!'
'What?'
'I've just found that rocket we built all those years ago!'
'"We?'
'I helped with the colour scheme.'
'Hmm.'
'Well anyway, curious thing... I was just in Dr. Cherrybalti's earlier, getting my toenails clipped...'
'Dr. Cherrybalti, the veterinary surgeon?'
'Yes.'
'Carry on.'
'...when who should walk in, but Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun!'
'Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun, the astronomer-cum-nasal hair waxer?'
'That's the one.'
'Continue.'
'And you'll never guess what he was carrying on his back.'
'What?'
'No, go on, guess.'
'A chrome-plated standard lamp?'
'Think about what I said earlier.'
'A large bag of toenail clippings?'
'Earlier than that.'
'I can't remember that far back.'
'Our rocket!'
'Our rocket?'
'The very same!'
'But why was he carrying our rocket into Dr. Cherrybalti's?'
'It fell on his dog.'
'Fell? How?'
'Well here's the thing... Apparently it was reclaimed by the aliens.'
'Reclaimed? Aliens? Now you've really lost me.'
'Okay, let me take you back...'
'Are you going to hypnotise me?'
'No, just listen. '
'Okay.'
'Let me take you back to 1986, when we were both a mere fourteen years of age, the rocket was built, we flew it half way to the moon, but then had to return, because we didn't have the right Elton John CD.'
'Yes, I remember.'
'But then, upon our return, we couldn't be bothered to take it out again...'
'Couldn't be bothered.'
'...because, being impetuous young fellows, who bored easily, we just wanted to move on to the next thing which grabbed our interest.'
'Jigsaws.'
'Of windmills.'
'And vintage bicycles.'
'But what do you think happened to the rocket then, Larry?'
'I locked it in my mum's shed.'
'But what happened to it after that?'
'I assumed it had rusted away into a big pile of-'
'Rust?'
'Yes.'
'No!'
'No?'
'No, Larry! That's just what they wanted you to think!'
'They?'
'The aliens, Larry! The ones who had implanted the thought into your head to build the rocket in the first place!'
'Implanted? Build?'
'Yes!'
'Rocket in the first place?'
'Yes!!' 'But why would aliens need me to build a rocket for them?'
'Because they are thought-forms, Larry!'
'Oh now come on, this is just silliness, Mick Mastadon.'
'No it's not, Larry Lampshade! They are unable to physically interact with our world! At least according to the pamphlet they left Sellotaped to the side of the rocket.'
'Pamphlet?'
'How else do you think I know all this?'
'But if they are unable to physically interact with our world, how did they produce a pamphlet?'
'I assume they got Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun to type it up using Microsoft Word 2000.'
'Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun, the micropalaeontologist-cum-Tony Blackburn impersonator?'
'No, the other Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun.'
'The one with the rocket on his back...'
'Our rocket.'
'So you say.'
'I do say.'
'So tell me, friend Mick, how did he come by "our rocket?'
'It fell on his dog.'
'So you say.'
'I do say.'
'But how did it come to fall on his dog?'
'I don't know. The aliens didn't explain that part.'
'In the pamphlet.'
'Yes.'
'Which they got Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun, the astronomer-cum­-nasal hair waxer, to type up using Microsoft Word 2000.'
'So it seems.'
'Hmm.'
'What?'
'I don't know, Mick, there's just something about your story that doesn't feel right.'
'What do you mean?'
'You mean apart from the fact that you're relying on the authenticity of a pamphlet apparently produced on Microsoft Word 2000 by Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun, under the psychic instruction of alien thought-forms?'
'Yes, apart from that.'
'Well the thing is, friend Mick...'
'What is the "thing, friend Larry?'
'There's just one small point that disturbs me...'
'And what would that be, my dearest pal?'
'How did they get the rocket out of the locked shed?'
'I would assume by some sort of teleportation device.'
'I didn't think of that.'
'So do you want to come and take a look?'
'At the rocket?'
'At the rocket.'
'Where is it?'
'It is where I am, friend Larry - at the house of Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun.'
'Does it still work?'
'There's only one way to find out!'

At the House of Dr. Armand Von Musselbraun...

'Dr. Musselbraun.'
'Yes, Mr. Maztadon?'
'May we please be allowed access to our rocket?'
'Your rocket, Mr. Maztadon?'
'By which I mean the rocket which fell on your dog, and which you now keep locked away in your garage-cum-astronomy laboratory-cum-nasal hair waxing studio.'
'My poor little Chihuahua.'
'Sorry about your dog.'
'It eez because of your rocket zat my little Tiddles can now only walk round in circles!'
'In all fairness, Dr. Musselbraun-'
'Von Musselbraun.'
'In all fairness, Dr. Von Musselbraun, it was the aliens who made us build the rocket.'
'Ze aliens.'
'Yes.'
'So vhat am I supposed to do, sue ze aliens?'
'That would seem to be a prudent course of action.'
'You are inzane, Mr. Mastadon.'
'Thank you, Dr. Von Musselbraun.'
'It eez not meant as a compliment.'
'It is taken as such.'
'Zis way to your rocket.'
'Splendid!'

* * *

'I must say, I begrudge having to pay Dr. Von Musselbraun £2.50 per hour for the loan of our own rocket.'
'In all fairness, friend Larry, it did fall on Tiddles, his pet Chihuahua, thus forestalling said canine's continued ability to engage in forward motion.'
'Still.'
'Well never mind that. What is our location, Captain Lampshade?'
'We are just about to enter Bulgarian airspace, Chief Engineer Mastadon.'
'Bulgarian? I thought we'd be halfway to Jupiter by now.'
'It doesn't work as well as it used to.'
'Ahh well... Bulgaria, here we come!'
Larry & Mick entered Bulgarian airspace.

[FIN]